The Beginning
by LuV34U1234
Summary: From the beginning, let's take it from the top. Liley. Lilly/Miley. Femslash. AU.
1. The Beginning

There's something beautiful about watching the rain fall; especially when you can still see the sun shining through the hardly-there clouds.

---

I remember jumping out of the small, stuffy car we had to drive in all the way from Tennessee to our new home in Malibu and seeing the huge house for the first time. Jackson stood beside me as we stared wide-mouthed as Daddy started to unlock the U-haul. He yelled, "Hurry up so we can see the inside," to us before we rushed to help him.

Jackson tried to take in all the boxes at once, and needless to say, he ended up spilling all his clothes on the sidewalk up to the front door. After laughing at him briefly, I rushed to the now-open door and up the staircase. Immediately, I had found my room and the huge closet that Daddy had made sure was big enough to handle all the clothes that I would soon have scattered all over the floor.

After I had went back downstairs and gawked at the bottom part of the house I had missed in my rush, I grabbed the couple more boxes before disappearing upstairs again. I had spent the next three hours moving my bed to where I wanted it, moving my dresser to a different spot, and filling the drawers with clothes. I was pretty much exhausted as I went to the kitchen for an early dinner.

When I came back up, I remember going out the doors in my bedroom to the small deck that had a perfect view of my new California sunset. I spent the next hour just staring at the sunset from the low roof that I climbed onto with the help of wooden chair.

This was my first memory of Malibu, and I wouldn't change it for anything.

--

"I heard she got kicked out of her old school because she let snakes loose during a field trip."

"I heard that she doesn't have any teeth."

"I heard she ate opossum."

The whispers followed me for what seemed like forever, but in truth, it was only half a day. I didn't know what to expect, but what I did expect was the rumors that were sure to be there. I'm not going to lie; I was completely nervous and scared. I was in a whole different building from Jackson, but I had that small comfort of knowing he was near to hold onto as I walked the hallways.

My most embarrassing parts of the day would've been when I had to read in front of the entire class and hear the stifled laughs at my accent. It's definitely not high up on my 'memorable' moments. I really didn't want to talk much after that and was most definitely glad for the bell to ring for lunch.

I walked into the cafeteria with fewer stares than this morning when I walked in; people were moving fast, sitting down, and talking loudly to one another. I felt like I was the only one taking time to look at everyone and take in this moment; that was until I met the eyes of a blue-eyed stranger staring straight at me from across the room. I looked away quickly, fearing that I would soon be considered the 'weirdo-new-kid' if I were to keep my eyes looking higher than my shoes.

Somehow, I maneuvered to the line that was forming for the delicious food.

/sarcasm.

I looked at the globs of red and brown, the lumps of white and green, and bypassed the random blues and oranges. I opted for an apple, peanut-free peanut butter, and a small plate of mashed potatoes. I continued through the line, quickly exchanging my crisp ten dollar bill for a crumpled five with some change and sliding between the crowds until I found myself in a corner next to a garbage can.

I sighed, setting my food onto the semi-clean looking table and beginning to look at the package that contained peanut-free peanut butter to see what exactly _was_ in it. I wasn't expecting anyone to come near me, which is understandable because of my morning.

But, of course, since I wasn't expecting the unexpected, the unexpected came unexpectedly.

"Hey."

I jumped, making the small package go flying in the air and landing into the garbage can. I took this as a sign before turning my attention to a pair of blue eyes.

"H-hi." I coughed slightly, my cheeks reddening as my accent slipped through just that one word.

"Is it true you eat opossum?"

O-kay. I wasn't exactly expecting that.

"Uh, no." I felt some anger at the rumor that had been started.

"Oh, okay. It's just, some people were talking about you and they really believed it."

"You shouldn't believe everything people say." I say, giving some attitude that I usually reserved only for my Daddy when he wouldn't let me stay up till 12 on a school night.

"Oh, no, it wasn't me. I didn't believe them." She talks with a sense of courage, as if she isn't afraid of being wrong.

"Oh, sorry." I felt slightly ashamed for giving her attitude, especially since she seemed genuinely nice.

She brushes some hair from her eyes, or the hair that isn't covered by her beanie. I take the time I get as she looks over her shoulder to a boy sitting a couple tables away to take in her appearance; she has some unknown-to-me brand of white skater shoes, some loose-fitting, black skinny jeans, a zip-up green hoodie, and her black beanie topped her appearance off.

"This is Oliver." She motions to the mousy-looking boy who decided I wasn't so bad if his friend was talking to me. Oh, the wonders of middle-school friendships.

"Hello." I say, taking my eyes off the blonde-haired beautiful girl to look at the boy wearing a short-sleeved shirt over a long-sleeved shirt. "My name's Miley."

"She doesn't eat opossum." The girl says, nodding at her friend. "I already asked."

"You don't?" he says, almost sounding disappointed as he reached down to his jean pocket.

"Cough it up, Oaken." She holds her hand out, waiting as Oliver grumbled and pulled out a dollar from his pocket.

"You guys made a bet?" I asked, a little wary of them now.

"Hakuna Matata, Miley. Oaken here doesn't know what to believe." She smiled, holding out her hand. "By the way, my name's Lilly."

I held her hand as we brought them up and down in your casual meeting of two people, only I'm pretty sure random strangers shouldn't feel that spark and the tingle even seconds after they let go.

It's just a thought.

This was my first memory of meeting Lilly, and I wouldn't change it for anything.

* * *

AN: Erm; Hello there. I haven't written any Liley stories in a long time, but I'm ready to try again. ^.^ This is starting off rough because I don't have any idea where this is going. R&R?

Disclaimer: I don't own anything you recognize.


	2. Two Worlds Collide

We watch the world pass us by as we drive to the places we always go. You realize this moment is all you have, but you don't do anything to stop the car and walk the rest of the way to see it.

--

I'm sitting in the back of a large history classroom; it has the laminated posters hanging on the wall that the school in the next district has in their room, and the school in the district after that has as well. The teacher's standing at the whiteboard with an uncapped marker; he's writing down words for everyone to look at and I wonder if he ever wonders what his handwriting tells the world about himself. Some kids are chatting among themselves whilst sitting upon the desktops; they have their own notebooks that I can only guess about what they have or haven't written about inside.

There are a couple desks around me that are vacant, and I can't help but glance up when someone walks by. I don't know if I'm hoping if they'll sit down next to me and start talking, or if I'm paranoid that they will stare down at the notebook in front of me; my notebook's green and college-ruled, I've already written on the first six pages, and absolutely none of the words have anything to do with any of my previous classes.

My pencil twirls around my fingers in a slow dance as I look up as the man who is the teacher when he clears his throat loudly and with purpose. He holds the marker in his right hand while it is still uncapped, his tie hangs from his neck with a pattern that shouldn't even be considered a pattern, and he stands with his shoulders slightly sagging. He looks completely tired of school; even though I would have thought that a teacher wouldn't be tired from the first day of school and be embracing the fact he is giving knowledge to people who don't know.

Then I remember the reason I wouldn't want to be a teacher; I wouldn't want to be the teacher that kids will remember when they're all grown up and question why they didn't learn more from you. I wouldn't want to be that teacher the kids will look back on and wish they had the teacher across the hall whom was teaching much more interesting things with her students laughing merrily.

With this thought fresh in my mind, I listen as the man starts his own pre-planned lesson with sympathy in my eyes as he glances to his left through the square window in the door at the woman who has a smile and is teaching across the hall.

--

"Hey, Miley!" I hear a voice shout, but I don't bother turning around to see if they're calling me. If they really wanted my attention, they'd catch up and stop me, right?

"Miley!" a hand reaches and touches the skin on my arm, and I stop my walking to turn and face the person.

"Hello." I glance at the shaggy-headed boy standing in front of me. He's breathing deeply, his hands falling to his knees in attempt to keep his diaphragm up. "Oliver, right?"

"Yeah," He says, standing up and reaching into his right pocket. "Lilly wanted me to give this to you."

I watch his hands as he pulls out a clean, folded piece of paper and an inhaler. He hands me the paper before uncapping the small puffer and shaking it roughly. He brings it to his mouth, pressing down fast on the top of the inhaler before breathing in and keeping the air inside.

"She said she wants you to read that." He says with his breathing more steady as he recaps the device. "Like, before you leave school."

I glance down at the lined-paper, wondering why the blue-eyed girl would take the time to write me a note. I carefully shift the books in my bag; I note they have a desperate want to rip the seams apart and crawl away from me. I carefully unfold the neatly folded note and smooth out some wrinkles with the help of my denim clad thigh. The note is written on wide-ruled paper, and in black ink. The letters seem to be small compared to the width of the lines and I wonder if she chose this paper on purpose or if it was a simple mistake created by her mother or father. Her words are written in a messy scrawl and take up half the page's lines.

_Miley-_

_I know that sending Oken isn't probably the best idea, but I needed to ask you somehow. This probably isn't the best way, but I'm in a hurry and wish I could write longer. I just wanted to know if you wanted to hang out after school? If you do then we can go for a walk or something. Meet me by the track field, close to the little shed thing. If you want to._

_-Lilly_

I stare at the handwriting in front of me. I wonder what each letter means to her, what she means by this note, and if she realized how she sounds. I ignore the urge to look again at some mistakes in her writing because you can't judge a book by just one page. I take a second before I glance up at an expectant face staring at me. I don't know how to react to this, and I'm sure it shows on my face.

"She really wants you to go." He grins, "I'm not supposed to say, but I'm pretty sure she wants more 'girly-type' friends. I'm much too macho."

I suppress the sudden, over-whelming urge to laugh, knowing it would be considered rude in the eyes of a person trying to be my friend. I just nod and grin back at him, hoping he didn't understand what my small cough had covered up.

"Where's the track field?"

--

There's a feeling I get in the center of my stomach when I think of the future. I can't help but think of what will happen, what might not happen, who I will meet, if I will meet someone who ruins me, or maybe even help me grow. I don't get this feeling all too often, but, when I do, I can't help but tense up. I'm afraid of the future, and I know I'm not alone with this train of thought.

Sometimes, I try to decipher this feeling that finds its home in the depths of my stomach because sometimes it doesn't feel too much like fear. Could it be excitement? Happiness? Nervouness? Anxiety? Anger?

Why can't I figure out this feeling I get when I think of the future?

Why do I get this feeling whenever I see that blue-eyed stranger?

--

"Hey, I didn't think you'd show." She smiles at me, standing up from her place on the bench behind the track shed.

"I got lost." I blush, staring at my shoes.

"It's okay." She smiles, "Oliver always gets lost, and he's been here for a lot longer."

I smile slightly at her attempt of understanding, and she motions for us to walk. There's silence, but it isn't the bad kind that makes you want to cringe. I find myself enjoying the sound of her breathing, _in and out and in and out_, as we venture to a place I don't recognize. The trees are composed like a poem; mixtures of deep greens and light browns as we pass them. Our shoes contrast brightly with the concrete below us as they gently beat down and create a rhythm with the nature around us. The sky is lit up with Zeus' chariot making his trek across the vast blue canvas along with puffs of fluffy white clouds.

I don't notice right away when we begin to slow as we trek farther and farther into the city. My steps are in time with her as we finally arrive in front of a white, two-story house with all the furnishings you would find in a fairytale story. The house even has shutters graced upon the window, ones that I wish I had on my house for a moment before I realize they wouldn't look anywhere near as good; they are painted a light blue that reminds me of an animated dog, whose name eludes me as of this moment.

"Nice house." I compliment, glancing at her with a smile dancing at the corners of my mouth.

"It's okay." She smiles at me before leading the way up to the front door.

The grass in front is green; I wonder if they water it every day and if the back looks the same. The shrubs line the walkway and remind me of an old movie that I had seen years ago. She takes out a key from her front pocket before sliding it into the doorknob and twisting it open.

* * *

AN: I think I changed Oliver's last name from Oaken to Oken. I'll go back and fix that later. Forgive my mistakes, I'm relying heavily on Microsoft Word, and that this is such a slow start. Thanks _**makurutenoh**_, _**Music and Reading Lover**_, _**anLeyda**_, _**soxx**_, _**spenceandash4ever**_, &** _AshleyAlien1408_** for taking time to leave a review, and to everyone who put this story on their alerts. If you guys want to see something happen, just tell me in a review or PM me, because I wouldn't mind some ideas. I'll be sure to credit you if I use them. Thanks, again.

Disclaimer: See Chapter One because I'm too lazy to copy and paste.


	3. These Four Walls

"Par-lay voo frahn-say?"

"Oui, je parle francais."

"Yeah, you lost me."

With a sheepish smile, she sits back down into the wooden desk and rolls her pencil between her fingers. She ignores the teacher's exasperated look before he turns around to the board in front of the room and stares at the notebook in front of her. There's something different about it today. It's the usual color, only something's off; something subtle.

"Mademoiselle Stewart?"

She hears him say something that she can only guess is about dogs or milkshakes. The man shakes his head and sighs.

"Are you okay, Stewart?"

She nods as the bell rings and signals the end of the day. The teacher dismisses them, moving to behind his wooden desk where he will work late into the depths of night to grade piles of homework.

_Or maybe he'll just head home._

She wonders if he's one of the few teachers that I dedicated to their job while she walks amongst the faceless students to her locker down the hallway. The jumble and pushing of elbows from the people around her cause her to lose her direction. Soon the halls are clear and she finds herself walking aimlessly down a deserted hallway.

"Miley?" The voice comes from somewhere behind her; turning, she finds herself standing in the presence of Oliver Oken.

"Hello." She says, politely smiling at the book-ridden boy.

"Hi."

They stand in silence before Oliver breaks it by asking why she's still in the school.

"I'm looking for my locker." She says, turning to the locker closest to her and looking up at the bronze numbers etched on top.

_386_

"What's your number?" He asks, looking at the lockers on the other side of the hallway.

"Three-Eight-Six." She says, reaching for the lock that stood out brightly on the old, blue-painted lockers.

He chuckles before saying a goodbye and leaving the girl in her own mind.

--

_Do you ever wish that you could go back in time? Back to when time didn't matter; when you could go outside until the moon was shining and not having to come in until your parents call you from the open window. Yesterday, I dreamt that I was walking down a sidewalk. It was bright outside, the sky was a pale blue, and I could hear birds chirping and whistling. I kept walking and then I saw the most beautiful sight. _

_Remember those old books, the ones by Shel Silverstein? Well, a certain one in particular: Where The Sidewalk Ends. I never really read the book but I remember the first time I heard the title. It made me wonder where the sidewalk did end. I would think about it for days and nights but I could never really grasp the thought of the sidewalk just ending; and what would be at the end, if it just so happened to end._

_Anyways, last night, I could see the end of the sidewalk. There were two trees that bent apart from each other and you could gaze through them if you were close enough. I didn't get too close because Jackson woke me up by banging on my door._

_I was so close to finding out what was on the other side of where the sidewalk ended._

--

"Hey," She has a sly smile as she slides onto the bench, "what're you still doing here?"

Blushing, the brunette moves a piece of hair from her eyes and sets it behind her ear, "I've been asked that a lot today."

"And are you going to give me the same answer as you gave them?" She grins, sliding slightly closer to the brunette.

"Maybe."

They share a laugh before turning to face the soccer field where the team is practicing in blue and gold mesh jerseys. It's nearing four in the afternoon, the sun is still high in the sky and the two girls continue to sit side by side just enjoying the others presence.

"Hey," she moves a piece of blonde hair from her face. "You know how we made cupcakes at my house a couple days ago?"

"Yeah, of course I do." The brunette smiles, "We didn't have any frosting so we used Cool Whip, how could _anyone_ forget that?"

They laugh, and slip into silence again. It's not a totally relaxed silence but more of the kind where a question hangs in the air which is makes sense because there's still a question on the tip of a certain blonde's tongue.

"So," she starts, leaning backwards, stretching her legs out in front of her. "Can I ask why you're always carrying around that notebook?"

The brunette continues to stare at the soccer players moving around the field, her eyes avoiding the blonde's carefully. The blonde just sits, waiting for the other to open up, knowing that life isn't worth it if you don't take risks.

"You can."

They continue to sit long after the girl utters those words in something above a whisper; both are thinking, wondering what the other could be thinking of, not knowing they're both wanting to open up and let their secrets be known to each other.

--

She lies in bed with her blue comforter wrapped around her and the pillow under her head. She's dreaming a little dream, eyes closed and her breathing deep; the birds are outside her window, chirping to one another, causing the girl to stir.

Above her bed there's a picture frame on top of a simple wooden shelf that holds a photograph of a beautiful woman in a white and yellow summer dress. There are flowers as the print, with hints of green around their edges. The woman is elegant; her smile bright, her eyes even brighter; beside her are two children with smiles just as big as hers. One is a young Jackson, and the other is an even younger Miley.

The photograph sits on the shelf, never moving, never changing. The light shines on it every day because Miley makes sure it has the chance to. There are days when she wonders why this picture means so much to her.

Is it because she simply loves the look on all their faces on that day, how that day never seems to fade from her mind, and how it was simply one of the best days of her life?

Or could it be because she knows that _that_ moment, if ever given the chance, she would go back and make everything right; make sure her mom wouldn't leave to go to the PTA Meeting that night.

The alarm starts a soft beeping, much quieter than the birds outside her window, but slowly getting louder with each passing second. Miley smiles as she wakes, sitting up in bed and leaning over to shut off the noise before climbing out of bed and moving to the window just in time to see the birds fly away and Lilly skateboarding past her window towards the skate park a few blocks away. The blonde glances up and waves at the just-risen girl in the window with a smile hugely painted on her face.

Miley waves back and reminds herself to call the girl later to see if she'd want to walk with her to the beach later. Her smile never falters as she turns around and, for the first time in a long time, doesn't glance at the photograph sitting above her bed; maybe because today, it seems to not shine as bright as it did the day before.

* * *

**AN: **So, thanks everyone who read or reviewed, or did both. I apologize for not getting this up sooner, I had half of this written, and just managed to get the last part. Hopefully, the next chapter should be up sooner. Thanks, again.

Disclaimer: I Don't own anything you recognize.


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